' H H I

CRISTINA IGLESIAS

Cristina Iglesias

edited by CARMEN GIMENEZ

GUGGENHEIM MUSEUM CRISTINA IGLESIAS curated by Carmen Gimenez

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York

June 18 - September 7, 1997

The Renaissance Society, Chicago November 1997 - January 1998

Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Madrid Palacio de Velazquez

February 5 - April 20, 1998

Guggenheim Museum Bilbao Summer 1998

This exhibition and accompanying catalogue have been made possible by generous grants from the Ministerio de Education y Cultura, Direction General de Bellas Artes y Bienes Culturales (Ministry of Education and Culture of Spain, General Department of Fine Arts) and Carolina Herrera.

CATALOGUE

Concept by Cristina Iglesias Design by Leopold en Zonen, Ghent, Belgium

Production by Ediciones ElViso, Santiago Saavedra, Madrid

Printed in Spain

© 1997 The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York, All rights reserved ISBN 0-8109-6904-1 (hardcover) ISBN 0-89207-189-3 (softcover)

Guggenheim Museum Publications

1 07 1 Fifth Avenue New York, New York 10128

Hardcover edition distributed by Harry N. Abrams, Inc. 100 Fifth Avenue

New York, New York 100 11

PHOTO CREDITS

Luis Asin (Madrid), Javier Azurmendi (Madrid), Kristien Daem (Ghent), Dorothee Fischer (Dusseldorf), Claire Garoutte (Seattle), Antxon Hernandez (San Sebastian),

Atillio Maranzano (Rome), Dimitris Tamviskos (Athens), Werner Zellien (Berlin), and Cristina Iglesias PREFACE

THOMAS KRENS

Cristina Iglesias's work exemplifies the great strength and imagination of Spanish art today. One of an emerging generation of artists from this country, Iglesias creates work that is both innovative and connected to the past. Her archetypal forms and lyrical structures redefine our perceptions of architectural and natural spaces; her intri- cate surfaces and tactile materials are rooted in the rich aesthetic heritage of her native region.

With this exhibition, the Guggenheim Museum inau- gurates a series of presentations of contemporary Basque and Spanish art; the series will continue following the opening of the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao later this year. The enthusiastic and generous support of the Ministry of Education and Culture of Spain has been critical to the successful realization of this exhibition. I extend my great appreciation to Esperanza Aguirre Gil de Biedma, Minister of Education and Culture; Miguel PREFACE

Angel Cortes Martin, Secretary of State for Culture; Benigno Pendas, General Director of Fine Arts; and Jose Guirao Cabrera, Director of the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Madrid.

For their generous patronage, I extend my deep gratitude to Carolina Herrera Perfumes, New York, and Antonio Puig Perfumes, Barcelona. Both companies have a long history of support for the arts in the United States and Spain.

To the artist herself, I extend my sincere gratitude for her dedication to the project. I am grateful also to Carmen Gimenez, Curator of Twentieth- Century Art, for bringing this exhibition and catalogue to fruition. We are privileged to benefit from her vision and the results of her close collabora- tion with the artist.

Finally, a special note of gratitude is due to the participating venues and the lenders to this exhibition. Their cooperation and goodwill have made this presentation of Iglesias's work a successful undertaking. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CARMEN GIMENEZ

While I have known Cristina Iglesias for many years and have enjoyed seeing her work in numerous exhibitions throughout Europe, it is a particular pleasure to have the opportunity to work with her on her American museum debut and to see new audiences introduced to her oeuvre.

Foremost, I wish to express my deepest gratitude to the artist. Her constant enthusiasm and limitless energy have made this exhibition possible. It has been a privilege to collaborate with her.

I am also thankful to have benefited from the involve- ment of Suzanne Ghez, Director of the Renaissance Society of the University of Chicago, and Jose Guirao Cabrera, Director of the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Madrid, who expressed interest in and sup- ported this project from the outset. I am pleased that this exhibition will travel to these institutions as well as to the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao. I thank Juan Ignacio ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Vidarte, General Director of the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao, and his staff for their enthusiastic participation.

My heartfelt appreciation goes to all those who have offered their time and expertise to this project. In particular, I wish to thank Bart Cassiman and Richard Gluckman. I am very grateful to those who generously agreed to lend works: Guy Cambier, Dirk Buneel, and Michael Mast of BACOB Bank, Brussels; Jean Bernier of Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens; Dorothee Fischer of Galerie Konrad Fischer, Diisseldorf; and Donald Young of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle, who also provided invaluable counsel during the planning of this exhibition.

For their thoughtful catalogue essays, which shed light on the many aspects of Iglesias's work, my gratitude is extended to Nancy Princenthal, Adrian Searle, and Barbara Maria Stafford.

From conception to execution, exhibitions are a genuine team effort. Between loan forms, invitations, publications, public relations, transporta- tion, and installation, there are many individuals to acknowledge. At the Guggenheim Museum, my deepest thanks go to Thomas Krens, Director; Lisa Dennison, Deputy Director and Chief Curator; and Judith Cox, Deputy Director and General Counsel, for their constant support of this project. I also thank Rosemarie Garipoli, Deputy Director for External Affairs; George McNeely, Director of Corporate and Foundation Giving; Stacy Bolton, Development Coordinator; Nicole Hepburn, Exhibition Administration Coordinator; Ruth Taylor, Director of Budgeting and Planning; and Wesley Jessup, Senior Financial Analyst, who have coordinat- ed the financial aspects of this exhibition and its tour. The role played by Tracey Bashkoff, Curatorial Assistant and Project Manager, has been crucial to the realization of both the exhibition and cat- alogue. To Guillermo Ovalle, Assistant Registrar, I express my thanks for expertly organizing the logistics of the transportation and insurance of the works in the exhibition. I am grateful to Eleanora Nagy, Assistant Conser- vator for Sculpture, for her insights and help with the care of the works. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Barry Hylton, Exhibition Technician, provided thoughtful advance prepara- tion and oversaw the complex installation. My thanks are due to all who par- ticipated in the many aspects of the installation, including Scott Wixon, Manager of Art Services and Preparations; Peter Read, Production Services Manager/Exhibition Design Coordinator; Rich Gombar, Museum Technician; Jocelyn Groom, Exhibition Design Coordinator; Mary Ann Hoag, Lighting Technician; James Cullinane, Exhibition Technician; and Walter Christie, Maintenance Technician. In addition, interns Jan D'Amore and Simon Murphy gave enthusiastically of their time during the planning stages of the exhibition.

I am indebted to Anthony Calnek, Director of Publications, for helping to bring this book to fruition, as well as to Jennifer Knox White, Associate Editor, Carol Fitzgerald, Assistant Editor, and Domenick Ammirati, Curatorial Assistant. Filiep Tacq designed the catalogue with great sensitiv- ity and vision. I thank Santiago Saavedra and Lola Gomez de Aranda of El Viso for their careful attention to many aspects of this publication. In Spain, my gratitude goes to DanielaTilkin, Exhibition Coordinator, for her many contributions to the organization of the exhibition and catalogue, as well as to Iglesias's assistants Ruben Polanco, Jesus Tejero, Pepe Albacete, Guillermo Ponce, Mimi Muhoz, and, especially, Julian Lopez, for his invalu- able help during the production and installation of pieces in the exhibition. At the Renaissance Society, my thanks are extended foremost to Hamza Walker, Director of Education; Lori Bartman, Director of Development; Patricia Scott, Bookkeeper/Office Manager; Scott Short, Preparator/ Registrar; and Lisa Meyerowitz, Etal Dori, and Mark Clarson, work-study assistants. At the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, I express my special gratitude to Alicia Chillida, Coordinator, Palacio de Velazquez, for her dedication to this project.

To all of those contributing to this exhibition and publication, I wish to convey my sincere gratitude.

CONTENTS

Introduction

CARMEN GIMENEZ 13

Screen Memories

NANCY PRINCENTHAL 19

Stained With a Pale Light

ADRIAN SEARLE 47

Wanting Shelter

BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD 85

List of Illustrations 145

Exhibition History and Bibliography . . . .151

13

INTRODUCTION

CARMEN (JIMENEZ

This presentation will be a discovery for many and a con- firmation for others. Cristina Iglesias has had a brilliant career in Europe (her work having been shown at the most prestigious contemporary art exhibitions and venues, including the Venice Biennale, Kunsthalle Bern, and Stedelijk Van Abbe Museum, Eindhoven), but her art is known by comparatively few people in the United States, with the narrow exception of the keenest followers of current art trends. The first exhibition of the artist's work at an American museum, Cristina Iglesias will appear in both New York and Chicago before traveling to Madrid and Bilbao.

Iglesias belongs to a generation of artists who became known in the 1980s; committed to the poetic and sym- bolic aspects of both space and image, their art was deeply rooted in the most radical contemporary thought. 14 CARMEN GIMENEZ

Yet Iglesias's work also has its own personal language, which is character- ized by a complexity that stems from the creation of ambiguous spaces that open themselves to the viewer while folding into themselves. Extraordinary confrontations emerge from juxtapositions of the transparency of glass, the opacity of cement and iron, and the tactile qualities of resin, alabaster, and wood.

Iglesias's sculptures assume a specific relationship to the environments in which they are seen, and this intersection of the symbolic with formal pre- cision called for a nonretrospective approach to this exhibition. Instead, the artist has installed works — some of which have been created specifically for this presentation — that relate to the spaces they inhabit. At the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, the opening venue of the exhibition tour, the installation occupies two of the museum's new tower galleries, the terrace that opens off one of those galleries, and a section of the ramp in the origi- nal Frank Lloyd Wright building.

In this latter site, an engaging and enriching dialogue is established between Iglesias's work and the surrounding architecture. One of the most significant spaces in the history of architecture, with its vast central void crowned by a broad, circular skylight, this interior reveals such a close link between form and structure that the two can scarcely be distinguished from each other.

This convergence is also present in Iglesias's sculpture. Like Wright's

architecture, it takes its inspiration from the precepts of organic growth, which are applied to its structure. Its essentially organic nature creates a

spatial unity, a presence that entices the spectator to explore the work's poetic or sensual intuition.

It is this very thirst for total integration between the work and the place

where it is shown that has led the artist to conceive this publication, which accompanies the exhibition. Texts by Nancy Princenthal, Adrian Searle,

and Barbara Maria Stafford provide interpretations — each from its own distinct viewpoint — that enrich our approach to and understanding of a body of work so deserving of our attention.

17 i8 19

SCREEN MEMORIES

NANCY PHINCENTHAL

"As they do not owe their existence to their own contents, but to an associative relation of their contents to another repressed thought, they deserve the title of 'concealing memories.'" 1 So wrote Freud of remembered experi- ences that are too weak, emotionally, to survive without covert psychic support. Elsewhere, Freud chose the less unyielding term "screen memories" 2 to suggest that the opacity of these recollections was imperfect, permitting fragments of antecedent experience to show through; the term is also more sympathetic, allowing the possibility that these memories had intrinsic analytical appeal.

Indeed, Freud grew to regard psychoanalysis as, in

Jacqueline Rose's description, a program of sympathetic attention to "a dimension of reality all the more impor- tant for the subject because it goes way beyond anything that can, or needs to be, attested as fact." 3 20 NANCY PRINCENTHAL

If the word is granted sufficient latitude, almost all of Cristina Iglesias's work can be called screens. And almost all are shaped by the physical impression of other, prior objects. In some cases, the screens perform the primary function of occlusion, withholding from sight something too private or particular for general exposure. But they also arrest vision and detain it, rewarding sustained attention with concealed depths of their own.

The two chambers Untitled (Eucalyptus Leaves II, III, IV), 1994-96, and

Untitled (Bamboo Forest II, IV, V), 1995-97, are made of aluminum, cast from dense stands of eucalyptus and bamboo. The walls are opaque, with tropical greenery forming a barrier behind the vertical stems. While even close inspection reveals no breaks in the metal foliage, at the softened cor- ners of the rooms — the striated walls are made to bend like corrugated cardboard — there are discreet points at which the chambers can be entered. This substitution of physical for visual access is a variation on the usual purpose of screens. That is, there is more information available about the interior than even a permeable screen allows, but it comes at the price of disorientation: seen from inside, the space is experienced as elliptical, its boundaries softened and its limits hard to gauge.

Moreover, it is a space that is never seen empty. In another discussion of a psychoanalytic model of visual attention, Victor Burgin invokes an illus- tration from the final issue of La Revolution surrealiste. The image is assem- bled from little photographs of the Surrealists, which frame a painting by Rene Magritte of a nude woman who stands in for the missing word in the painted sentence, "je ne vois pas la... cachee dans la foret." In Iglesias's bamboo and eucalyptus chambers, the spectator becomes (or constructs) the unseen naked woman in the forest, a figure who is vulnerable, disrup- tive, invisible. "In looking there is always something that is not seen," Burgin concludes, "not because it is perceived as missing — as is the case in

4 fetishism — but because it does not belong to the visible."

If these rooms sport with perception, they play on memory with equal vigor.

For all their organicism, and despite minor differences — the vegetation varies 21 22 NANCY PRINCENTHAL 23

from eucalyptus and bamboo, and the configurations are not precisely the same - - the two chambers are near duplicates. Direct comparison, howev-

er, is impossible, as they are meant to be seen in separate galleries within the museum. Verification of the relationship depends on matching a physical

experience to a mental image. It is a perceptual mechanism also exercised, for instance, by Roni Horn's Paired Field, 1990, where pairs of small, machine-made metal objects, equivalent in mass but differently shaped, are

displayed in adjacent rooms. The kinds of mental calculations Horn is inter-

ested in (as is Richard Serra) — estimated measurements of volume and weight and the physical behavior of objects in space — are not altogether

foreign to Iglesias.

But Iglesias is concerned as well, or primarily, with extra information, with deliberately distracting data that skew perception of abstract form.

Hence her introduction of details — as, for example, of identifiable and rather exotic flora — that can be called narrative, or representational. From

a distance, as she points out, the textural incidents fall away, but the closer the viewer gets, the more consuming they become. In fact, Iglesias pushes this concern around another corner, to the intersection not only of form and image, but of image and decoration. She describes this conjunction as "tak-

ing ornamentation to a space of representation." The level of resolution, and

of depth, in the casting fills in spaces usually left blank between what is nec-

essary — in building a wall, or a believable image — and what is surplus. It is as if Iglesias were constructing a continuum, without apprehensible inter- nal divisions, in which the organic world is connected on the one side to the realm of decorative pictorialism, and on the other to idealized abstract form.

This is true not only of the eucalyptus and bamboo chambers, but also of

an additional installation, Untitled (Hanging Tilted Ceiling), 1997, pages 138-39. It consists of a slightly canted dropped ceiling, just high enough to feel com- fortable, and tilted, subtly but perceptibly, downward toward one far corner.

Leafy and bright, it is nevertheless made of solid material, a mixture of pow-

dered stone and resin: Tiepolo it's not. Indeed, this casting tends to lichens, 24

*1 1

m 25

-Dl 26 NANCY PRINCENTHAL

mushrooms, and mud: it is an impression of decay, not only as metaphor but as organic fact. With paradoxical precision and solidity, Iglesias delivers the boundary-blurring fade to gray now commonly associated with experiments in mechanical reproduction (as in the kinds of progressively degraded images that result from repeated photographic or xerographic copying, when each descending generation becomes the original for the next). It is her intention that viewers experience this room as both oppressive and dis- inhibiting — something like walking underwater.

A final installation Untitled (Jealousy), 1997, page 129, is a chamber made of walls that are porous and thus visually penetrable, like ordinary screens. In Spanish, as Iglesias points out, the word for a louvered window covering is celosia, which also means "jealousy." (In French, such a window covering is a jalousie, a usage that exists in English as well, and which also translates as "jealousy.") The etymological associations are clear: the jalousie allows for shuttered surveillance, for watching without being clearly visible. Alain

Robbe-Grillet's short novel Jealousy is constructed around just this connec- tion; it is also built around detail observed with a punctiliousness rivaling that of Iglesias. With perfect impassivity, Robbe-Grillet's protagonist records his jealous surveillance of his wife, which is framed by a hypnotic series of slightly compromised views: the wife is seen through an unnamed French colony's banana trees, a balustrade, a set of French windows, and, as the novel reaches its most interior space, a set of louvered blinds, described in several paragraphs of fanatic minutiae. 5 Also a favored visual motif of film noir (which was contemporary at its height with the nouveau romari), the jalousie notoriously works both ways, its photogenic play of light and shadow sometimes more revealing of the seer than the seen. Intrigue and exoticism, menace and suspicion, dubious protection: these associations to the semitransparent screen are all in some measure relevant to Iglesias's screened room. It is designed to permit viewers to see in, not out. Foliage and a barely decipherable text constitute its patterning. Like the dropped ceiling that conditions the viewer's experience of the installation NANCY PRINCENTHAL 27

beyond it, this screen is meant to be a break, or blind, for what follows: it is a recollection — of the words and objects cast into its surface — and also a presentiment. Screens and blinds, memory and anticipation, ornament and representa- tion have been consistent concerns in Iglesias's previous work. The last of these, the interest in the shared limits of decorating and depicting, have per- haps their clearest expression in a body of sculpture involving salvaged tapestries. In Untitled, 1993-97, page 73, a tapestry appears shadowed by an aluminum sheet; in Untitled, 1987, page 69, it is pinned to the wall behind glass propped up by a colossal finger of iron and concrete. In Untitled

(Venice I), 1993, page 64, a tapestry is fixed to the backside of a massive slab of concrete, which stands close to the wall; here, the tapestry is seen only obliquely, reflected in a half-hidden sheet of glass. A premier vehicle for artistic expression in medieval Europe, tapestry has also been, of course, a functional form, meant at first to help warm drafty stone castles, where it was hung on the walls, but drifting also, especially in northern Europe, from wall to floor to tabletop.

In its indeterminacy — does it hang (as a representational artwork) or lie flat (as functional form) or occupy some less fixed, decorative position? — lies tapestry's value to Iglesias. She selects old but not especially valuable examples, in which floral motifs predominate. The penetration of stone walls by vegetation figured in these tapestries has, of course, often been over- taken by historical reality (when, for instance, medieval stone structures deteriorate), and Iglesias's work also plays on this metaphorically potent example of exposure and loss. In her tapestry assemblages, frames overtake images, and weight-bearing structures are fragmented or otherwise rendered precarious, so the relationship between support and image (or decoration) is troubled or reversed. Louise Bourgeois, whose parents owned a gallery specializing in tapes- tries, has recalled, "The tapestries were always torn at the bottom. They were originally used as moving walls ... the feet on the figures were often 28 29 30 NANCY PRINCENTHAL

missing. ... I became an expert at drawing feet. ... I was very satisfied with them. ... It was a great victory. And it also taught me that art is interesting,

and that it can be useful, which is completely unknown today. . . . That is how

6 my art got started." Her statement is a wonderful description of physical instability restored, of form and function resolved, and it is — like all the narrative foundations of Bourgeois's work — at least part fantasy. Iglesias, in a sense, demythologizes Bourgeois's tapestries, returning them to foot- lessness and fragmentation, to a position where utility is contested though not unequivocally denied, just as both figuration and ornament are present but held in abeyance.

There is an additional role in Iglesias's work for screens and memory, in the creation of photosilkscreened metal and glossy silk panels. Ever since Robert Rauschenberg transferred photographic media imagery to canvas with silkscreens in the early 1960s, the process has served as a means of expediting representation — of making pictures with a minimum of expres- sive gesture or technical virtuosity. The silkscreen, a porous matrix, permits limitless reproduction; quality is unrelated to priority in the sequence of production. Iglesias has used the medium to project photographs of forest- ed landscapes, and also of maquettes of her metal screens, onto flat panels. Spatially, the latter are especially complex. A pronounced illusion of depth is created by the recession of the rippling walls, which are generally posi- tioned to suggest a corridor leading away from the picture plane, but this opening into space is opposed by the physicality of the support. (Even the silk panels, stretched around fairly thick frames, have a substantial presence: in fact, the photographs continue around the sides.) The spatial profiles of the photographed walls can be gauged by reference to the shape and size of

Iglesias's sculptures, but this reference is also misleading, since the pho- tographs are in fact greatly enlarged images of much smaller models. The shift in scale is visible in the texture of the depicted surfaces, where bits of leaves and stems assume impossible proportions. These, the work's only index of the world outside the studio, seem the most fantastical. 3i .

32 NANCY PRINCENTHAL

Referring reliably neither to nature nor to art, picturing passageways that are doubly and triply shielded, these screens offer themselves as memories of experiences that never existed. As visual dwelling places, they are the more inviting, and the more rewarding as objects of analysis.

1 "The Psychology of Everyday Life," in The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, trans, and ed.

A. A. Brill (New York: The Modern Library, 1938), p. 62.

2. "The Interpretation of Dreams," in ibid., p. 243.

3. Jacqueline Rose, Sexuality in the Field of Vision (London: Verso, 1986), p. 13.

4. Victor Burgin, InlDifferent Spaces: Place and Memory in Visual Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), p. 66.

5. For example, "Once the bedroom is empty, there is no reason not to open the blinds, which fill all three windows instead of glass panes. The three windows are similar, each divided into four equal rectangles, that is, four series of slats, each window-frame comprising two sets hung

one on top of another. The twelve series are identical : sixteen slats of wood manipulated by a cord attached at the side to the outer frame. The sixteen slats of a series are continuously par- allel. When the series is closed, they are pressed one against the other at the edge, overlapping by about half an inch. ... When the blinds are open to the maximum, the slats are almost hor- izontal," and so on, for another full paragraph. (Alain Robbe-Grillet, Jealousy and In the

Labyrinth, trans. Richard Howard [New York: Grove Press, 1965], pp. 119-20; this edition shows a man peering through a jalousie on the front cover).

6. Donald Kuspit, An Interview with Louise Bourgeois (New York: Vintage Contemporary Artists,

1988), p. 20. 33 JV49Q^ 35 36 37 i 40 4i 42 43 44 45 4 6 47

STAINED WITH A PALE LIGHT

ADRIAN SEARLE

Cristina Iglesias works at a table in her studio, construct- ing the most precarious model from a few insignificant scraps: bits of wood, tracing paper, pins, tape, little lumps of clay and plaster and torn-off strips of cardboard. Using things near to hand as a stage designer might, to construct a theater of the mind from photocopied backdrops and flats, painted screens, printed forests. Inventing a space.

Trying things first one way, then another. Playing with a piece of mirror, to duplicate and reduplicate and multi- ply the scene she's made. This has the effect of both enlarging the visual space that this tabletop construction contains, and complicating, by way of a simple illusion, our perception of where things are, what is real and what is reflected — enlarging the space, reducing the possible 48 ADRIAN SEARLE sightlines, making this fabricated world appear to grow deeper, then more shallow again. Building a territory.

What Iglesias has constructed in miniature — a series of columns, a lean- to, a flimsy paper canopy on a cardboard wall, a number of grayed and stri- ated planes abutting one another and jutting into a blank white cube of space - - will later be photographed in close-up. The world will be cropped by the lens, and the photograph will make it almost impossible for us to tell how big the space is, how tall the objects, whether what we are looking at is large or small. The close-up might appear to be a model for a sculpture or an architecture, an invention, or it may strike us as somewhere that we have already been: the interior of a building; a colonnade discovered on some meandering journey through unfamiliar streets. A skidding view of trees, glimpsed as we drove along the highway; a clearing in the woods. The close-up has become a blowup — and suddenly, we are no longer cer- tain how big we are, whether this scene can be walked into, crawled through, or entered only by the eye. What began life amid the clutter and rubbish on

Iglesias's studio table has become an entrance to the imagination, a passage, an invitation, leading us somewhere and nowhere.

All this is much like play; like a child's solitary invention, down on hands and knees in the dust, down among the weeds and dirt and leaves, using whatever comes to hand, creating a new corner of the world, both as a model and something in itself.

A child's fantasy and play and the artist's work are not unconnected, although the adult consciousness disguises these flights of the mind, or chooses to forget their origins. Ask artists about their work, and what leads them to make what they do, and the best answer is likely to be the work itself, and another work, and then another. These repeated acts, at once the same and yet distinct in their form and appearance, also become part of the viewer's journey — from one object to the next, from one place to another.

They are a succession of trials and discoveries, gains and losses. All are flights away from, and into, the present.

50 ADRIAN SEARLE

Iglesias's sculptures are both objects and places. They present themselves to us in terms of volumes and multiple surfaces, as constructions, fabrica- tions, proposals. They present themselves to us in the manner of the most familiar details of the spaces we occupy and move through every day — arrangements of walls, canopies, grilles, concatenations of verticals and angles, bulks, wedges, and shunted, narrow spaces; planes and corners, bar- riers and sudden openings.

The experience of her work is like a walk through the world, coming across street corners where an alley sidles into the square at an oblique angle, an alley you wouldn't know was there unless you were right on top of it; and then a high wall covered in ivy, the blind wall of a building, a glimpse of a darkened room through a gap in the shutters, light falling through a stairwell, a skylight, the invitation of a half-opened door. Those places where we have stood or passed by, a memory of somewhere, the recollection of a place that has already begun to fade and unravel, like an old tapestry. Where was it, exactly?

Aligned in a subtle relation to the walls and floors and ceilings, Iglesias's works enter into a kind of collusion with the limits and proportions of the spaces they come to inhabit. But rather than augmenting a given architec- tural void, decorating it, or filling it up, they change it. With their architec- tonic forms and their sometimes profuse allusions to the natural world, to husbanded vegetation and to nature run riot, they alter the way in which we regard their settings. It is a matter of outsides and insides, openness and containment. The structures she builds are mostly enclosures of some kind — cul-de-sacs and screened, hermetic corners, impasses.

The work redirects us, slowing our progress, halting us at a wall, which is also an image of a wall, directing us to a space, a narrow space between the wall Iglesias has erected and the wall of the room in which her work stands, a space which seems no longer to belong to the everyday order of things. We might see the work as a matter purely of shadows and of available light. A solid mass fills a room with its atmosphere, its sullen weight, the glints and 5i 52

54 ADRIAN SEARLE

hollows and indentations running across its face. How obdurate it is, how it endures us.

Iglesias's work is no longer a model on a table. It has become an incident - a sequence of incidents — in a gallery. The plane on which we stand has replaced the tabletop. We might stand under one of her canopies, a canopy which serves no ostensible purpose. It is fixed to the wall of an enclosed room, safe from the elements. There is, after all, no rain nor is there likely to be. The day is not too bright, we've no need to protect ourselves from its glare, there's no wind. There is nothing to detain us, but we stand there any- how. We stand there just for the pleasure of being under a different light, a light filtered by the pale translucent alabaster of the canopy. We stand there for the pleasure of the wrap and curve and stretch of it, to feel its gesture of embrace. There's no other reason to be here, other than for the moment, standing under the canopy in the cool alabaster light.

Iglesias appears uninterested in such issues as "truth to materials," and undaunted by taboos against ornamentation, or the flagrant use of decora- tive effects. Her use of disparate materials — which are sometimes what they seem to be, sometimes not — is agglomerative, heterodox, and impure.

Standing under the hulk of a false, canted ceiling Iglesias has construct- ed, I look up at the whorls and tracery of its plaster surface. The surface is dense, churned, proud with innumerable casts taken from the undersides of fungi; embedded in it are the patterns of broken stems, the radiating bursts and filigree of delicate mushroom gills. It is like looking at the cratered sur- face of the moon through a telescope, or at the ceiling of some vegetal or mineral cathedral, with its roundels and bosses, at a chalk cliff embedded with fossils.

The only way to really study this broken, agitated surface is to lie down under it, like some stone king in an apse, with a carved dog at my feet, feel- ing the weight of things. Who is to say what kind of engagement is permis- sible, what kind of confrontation matters? Or we might stand in the narrowing angle she has created between one ADRIAN SEARLE 55 plane and another, between a cement wall and a sheet of glass. To insinuate ourselves into a space designed not for entry, but only to be looked into. To stand right up close to the sheet of glass that stands behind the arc of false wall, only to watch the reflections in the glass, and at the image of brownish tapestry stretched against the glass itself, an old tapestry of ornamental trees and pale vistas, an embroidered eighteenth-century country park.

There are no figures in Iglesias's work. The viewer, of course, is the figure the work always begs, the figure the work always seems to be for, the figure that is always absent. The spectator, moving between these different surfaces and materials, becomes part of their articulation.

It is all a matter of how to exist with an artist's work. Its specific and concrete facts — materiality, construction, formal order, and fine adjust- ments — are the syntax and grammar of our conversation with it. The lan- guage of sculpture is also the language of buildings, other kinds of objects, trees and bodies — even our own bodies. But we are not statues. Standing close to the thick, angled walls, surrounded by walls, with their endless repeated encrustation of leaves, standing so close that it entirely fills my field of vision; so close, in fact, as to be able to notice the dust building up in pockets and around the contours of the relief, and to smell the faint reek of resin. Losing myself in this clump of stems, this hedge of foliage, as though my head were in a thicket. Standing so close that its detail becomes endless and engulfing, mesmerizing and visceral. Passersby will think I'm crazy, standing there like that. But for a moment, I am lost in this other place, I have become invisible, even to myself, hidden among leaves.

How difficult it is, just to be where we are, to be nowhere else but here, without straying, without leading ourselves astray on some mental flight away from where we stand, away from the present. Iglesias's works are inci- dents in a room, unchanged except by our presence, by our coming and going, by our departures and returns. We watch other people, appearing and disappearing as they walk around and between the works, going from one space to another. Watching them pass, held for a moment in silhouette 56

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W 60 ADRIAN SEARLE against a white wall, oblivious as they stand and look, turning away, walking on. Hearing the footfalls of unseen feet behind us, just as we had begun to feel that we were utterly alone in the room, in solitude with ourselves. They bring us back to the present moment. Iglesias's work has been described in terms of the labyrinth. Labyrinths are designed to mislead, confuse, and ensnare. The pleasure of a labyrinth or maze is the pleasure of losing ourselves, of becoming lost and of refind- ing our way. What concerns us as viewers, and what gives us pleasure, is our own passage through the work. And we can go which way we like, and the heart of the labyrinth is never in the same place twice. There's an old joke: A traveler, lost in the countryside, stops and asks a local man the best way to get to his destination. "Well," says the old man,

"If I were going there myself, I wouldn't start from here." Unlike journeys, or poems, or movies, sculptures and images have no beginnings, and no destinations. They have no ends. Their openings, and their resolutions, are contained within and between them. We journey back and forth, make detours, find ourselves delayed, expect to arrive in one place only to find ourselves elsewhere. We are constantly in motion between one place and another, and there's no way back to a beginning that is for- ever receding into the distance. Iglesias's work is about standing still and walking, about being detained, enticed, arrested, allured, and captivated by a subtle geometry of space and objects revealed not by plumb lines or tape measures or by bumping into things in the dark, but by consciousness. I am in a place that is not a place, beside a wall that is not a wall, at a destination that turns out to be merely a stop on the way. Everything is contingency.

Striving to be there while in endless transition through an interminable suc- cession of moments, is a struggle with our constant evasions.

If I describe the work that Cristina Iglesias makes as a space, or as a place, a territory, an opening, or an enclosure, or even as an incident in a gallery,

I also see it as a situation, a mental as well as physical situation of forms, images, allusions, references, and presences. The work's sensitivity to chang- ADRIAN SEARLE 6l

ing light, to the vagaries and conditions of its surroundings and circum- stances, even the sense of time and duration it contains -- one can never see the entirety of a work at one moment, parts are withheld, and one often has the feeling that there's more going on and more to see than one has taken in - - all add to the sense that the work's plenitude is endless, that it demands our return, to be seen again, missed again, approached again in yet another way. The situation is constantly changing. Even though everything is static, nothing is in the same place twice.

And so it is with memory, the memory of places and situations, the mem- ory of a stand of bamboo or a Moorish screen, the memory of a street, a window, a doorway, the memory of a certain kind of light, a shelter, a his- tory of feelings. The unseen history of Iglesias's work might begin with such things, long before the key is turned in the lock of the studio door, and before she goes to sit at her table. Sitting at my own table I close my eyes and see an avenue leading away in a white room, shards of bark and euca- lyptus leaves underfoot, a wall ahead and a shadowed space. When I stretch my hand out it is stained with a pale light.

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WANTING SHELTER

BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD

Is there any terrestrial paradise where, amidst the whis- pering of the olive leaves, people can be with whom

they like and have what they like and take their ease in

shadows and in coolness? Or are all men's lives like the

lives of us good people ... broken, tumultuous, ago-

nised, and unromantic lives, periods punctuated by screams, by imbecilities, by deaths, by agonies? Who the devil knows?

Ford Madox Ford, The Good Soldier, 19 15

Why do human beings crave refuge? Of course, there is the instinct to shield the vulnerable body by discovering or creating shelters. But there is also the Rousseauean yearning for a primitive Eden: wild, remote, free. Mossy grottoes, mineral-tapestried caverns, penumbral woods, and ocean-ringed islands beguile us with Siren songs of 86 BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD

safety. You will be magically guarded from dangerous invasions, they whis- per. Cristina Iglesias's isolating and protecting spaces are also seductive, for they evoke this escapist dream of being hedged from life. Yet the insulation from devastating passion, suffering, decay — seemingly promised by her embracing forms — is illusory. Her cement lean-tos (such as Untitled

[Venice I], 1993, pages 62-63), alabaster cupolas (like Untitled [Alabaster III]',

J 993)3 and skeletal awnings shamble aimlessly toward an exit or define the depthlessness of a corner; some of her works {Untitled [Hanging Tilted Ceiling], 1997, pages 138-39, for example) float, completely suspended, over vacancy. Even the gigantic monoliths, such as Untitled (Bamboo Sticks I), 1994, pages 109-13, impressed with botanical patterns, are massive only in height. They stand precariously on a slim wedge of floor, as if to assert their ephemerality within a monitor-oriented society that has rendered all grounding extinct. Prehistoric-looking site-specific works such as Untitled

(Lofoten Islands), 1994, pages 98-99 — a work set atop a seaside cliff and incorporating immense natural boulders flanked by two scarred aluminum stele — similarly evoke abandonment, the falling down of ruins, the erosion of a prior ensemble.

In the digitally disembodied and delocalized cyberworld of the late twen- tieth century, no ideas haunt us as much as those of stable matter and fixed place. A disturbing sense of our psychic and physical homelessness surely fuels the continuing fascination with all aspects of "organic" design. The recent vogue for Charles Rennie Mackintosh is just the latest act of mourn- ing for lost coherence. This quest for an intimate integration of rooms, fur- nishings, facade, with surroundings was at the heart of all modernist archi- tectural reform. From the British Arts and Crafts movement, to the fin-de- siecle Wiener Werkstatte, up to and including the comprehensive function- alism taught at the Bauhaus from 1919 through 1933, context prevailed. Through the agency of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood and William

Morris, jewellike paintings, millefiore tapestries, and blooming carpets unfurled effortlessly into rustically timbered exteriors. Inspired by John

88 BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD

Ruskin's homages to ivy-covered medieval abbeys and the stormy sublime of Swiss mountain scenery, these advocates of the artisanal tied their designs together with tendril and cloud arabesques. By the close of the nineteenth century, the preoccupation with decorative geometries had opened a different path to spatial unification. Gustav Klimt's Minoan mosaics and Josef Hoffmann's rectilinear planes and clerestory bands thrust outward into the elegant linearism of the Art Nouveau facade.

Although subsequent purist developments tended to strip architecture of such richly figurative allusiveness, Mies van der Rohe's airy skyscraper grids and Alvar Aalto's penchant for harmonizing steel with wood were equally based in a collectivizing impulse. Whether extolling or decrying ornament, these very different kinds of modernists nonetheless relied on the firm armature of a given setting in which, or against which, they located their projects. Frank Lloyd Wright's procedure of gathering rocks from the gullies and sand from the washes, used in erecting the low, battered walls of his architecture school atTaliesin West, 1937-59, remains the quintessential expression of this holistic desire to bind. Navajo-inspired ramadas form a sophisticated camp, cradled within the Sonoran desert at the foot of Scottsdale's McDowell range. In rebellion, the deconstructive drives of postmodernism have not only wrenched residence from real estate — as in Frank Gehry's casually heaped, playful aggregates strewn about Santa Monica — but ripped sup- ports from their bases. Arakawa and Madeline Gins's Critical Resemblances House, Site of Reversible Destiny— Yoro, 1993-95, located inYoro Park near Osaka, mirrors, dissects, and resutures equipment typically found in an ordinary home. Pieces of furniture, appliances, and plumbing — normally bolted down — are clamped to the ceiling or swim underfoot, eerily visible beneath the glass pavement.

Similarly, Iglesias's anatomized elements, while retaining a strong hierat- ic presence, show just how uneasy earlier, assured meldings of site with structure have become. Analogous to Richard Long's neolithic-appearing BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD 89 stone circles or KimYasuda's egg-shaped marble boulder (1991) - - incon- gruously planted adjacent to Tokyo's gleaming International Forum - Iglesias plays up dissonance and subverts the surrounding streamlined public area. All claims to an intrinsic connectedness between pristine exhi- bition space and chiaroscuro assemblage are gone. Unnervingly, she confronts us with a section of a dim corridor (Untitled,

1993-97, page 73), a glazed portion of an overhang (Untitled, 1993, pages 56-57), an arc of an exposed buttress next to a remnant of tapestry

(Untitled, 1987, page 75). Each construction is partial, provisional, or bro- ken. And whatever thickness swells these material objects, their density quickly dissolves within the rarefied atmosphere of the immaculate art gallery. Much like Catherine Wagner's Sequential Molecules, 1995, nine gelatin-silver prints of glass vessels used in organic-chemistry experiments, residue merely serves to highlight thinness. In Wagner's photographic grouping, the ghostly precipitated crystals accentuate the fragility of the glowing containers and the chill emptiness of the laboratory. Iglesias's wide- apertured, pared-down artifacts similarly demand severe viewing condi- tions. But the banishment of any overarching totality and the attenuatingly neutral setting specifically address today's urban realist. Refuge has become intermittent, offering a brief respite from intrusive transparency and a momentary lull in multimedia exposure. The absence of any larger interlocking context serves to emphasize the totemic solitude of Iglesias's secular shrines to privacy. In works such as the series Untitled (Bamboo Forest), 1995, pages 1 15-19, the visitor walks alone into a quiet sanctuary; in others, he or she stands contemplatively under cast reflections. The history of art is riddled with such secretive enclosures, now dilapidated. Recall the narrow corridors in Egyptian Old Kingdom tombs, the tight corners of Mycenaean passage graves, the glimmering apses of Gothic cathedrals, the crenellated ramparts of feudal castles, and the labyrinthine garden grottoes of Twickenham and Stourhead. Nowhere, however, does one get a better sense of the sheltering potential of lithic

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Grande gorge — is punctuated by spare half-artificial, half-natural forma- tions rising or sinking into blankness. These Cubist angularities hover illu- sionistically somewhere between a built and an unbuilt habitat. Vertical lines and catenary curves, visible from all 360 degrees of the encircling panorama, scarcely dent the immensity of the sky. The long, steep climb up the Colorado Plateau from Sedona to Flagstaff and on to the mysterious Mesa Verde cliff dwellings is marked by straight, and insistently mural, uprights of ambiguous composition and confusing origin. "Montezuma's Castle," Red Rock, and Walnut Canyon set a seal on our imagination forever. Once beheld, those simultaneously desolate and comforting landscape features become a standard against which all future environments concerned with concealment or exposure must be measured.

They owe their impact, first of all, to sheer physical relief. Overhanging crags, narrow shelves, and fissures magnified by the wind into galleries offer temporary respite from the summer's hideous shadelessness, from the glare and dust generated by the endless, mirroring flats ebbing and subsiding around Phoenix. This initial sensation of a hellish blaze is rapidly succeed- ed by a surge of respect for looming and motionless masses capable of enduring such ruthless shining. Much like the inescapably bright emptiness of the museum interiors in which Iglesias's concrete and colored-glass passageways, bamboo or eucalyptus glyphed aluminum blocks, and eroded arches stand or lean, the brilliant vacancy of the Painted Desert also favors the cryptic minimalist fragment. In either case, valiant remains convey the mixed impression of being survivors and victims, refuges and refugees.

Atemporality — the quality of belonging to no time, or deep time, or all time — characterizes both the lone butte and the still uncrystallized, eco- logical projects dating from the 1960s dotting Arizona's arid wastes. Paolo Soleri's slowly evolving Arcology — a bizarrely variegated collage of science- BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD 101

fiction pods -- springs from the cactus-littered floor of an ironically named Paradise Valley. The Utopian vision, kept alive by his Cosanti Foundation, called for the development of a prototype for multiple-use habitats made integral with harsh environments. The desiccated prehistoric ocean bed provided the perfect analogue to current city blight. At completion, it was thought that six thousand people might live in compact complexes with large-scale solar greenhouses on twenty-five acres of a four-thousand-acre preserve. In actuality: tunnels gape, the amphitheater is unfinished, silt- covered vaults are partially painted, and apartments need walls. Dramatically surging from the basalt slopes near Phoenix's Cordes

Junction, the heroic stubs of this citadel for world peace are moving reminders of human aspiration run aground. Like Charles Simonds's soil- hugging terra-cottas of prehistoric civilizations — earthworks originating during the same idealistic era — Soleri's weathered buildings simultane- ously cling and crumble to earth.

But what of an older communal life in America, one combining the dramatic silhouette of the mesa with the abstraction of indigenous design?

I am thinking of those ancient habitations hanging in midair and hewn into the center of unscalable cliffs. What kind of fear or terror makes people sculpt fortresses alongside the swallows in the middle of zooming slickrock? The Sinagua Indians, who flourished around a.d. iooo and mysteriously disappeared some four hundred years later, left behind a precisionist archi- tecture of rosy plastered adobe, carefully sliced open here and there to reveal tiny windows and minuscule doors. Ansel Adams, photographing by moonlight at Canyon de Chelly, hauntingly captured how these elemental solids and voids were wedded to the sandstone against which they backed.

Starvation (from drought and teeth worn to the jawbone) or, perhaps, war- fare eradicated maize-eating cultures like the Sinagua and Anasazi. No one knows why or when for certain.

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— actually artificial caves bored into the smooth faces of curved canyons — makes plain how radically the concept of refuge has altered from premod- ern to postmodern times. Feminine kivas (rounded pithouses), masculine square towers (set securely into the live rock), and cosmic sipapus (holes dug into the middle of settlement sweat houses so that the spirits of the upper and lower regions might mingle), were rooted in the dirt. Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter, chief architect for the Fred Harvey-owned Santa Fe Railroad hotels, played up this paradigmatically organic aspect of Amerindian construction. Witness the massive, adobe-like rough plaster walls of her Hopi House, 1905, the haphazardly jumbled boulders of

Hermit's Rest, 1914, and the romantically ruined Watchtower, 1932, all still to be found at Grand Canyon. Certainly, these vanished tribes suffered mounting hardships-consistent with climatic change, poor hunting, and disease. Yet she, too, sensed a profound assurance reflected in their dwellings that derived from building on solid rock. Living may have been hand-to-mouth, but it was durable matter against which the ancient Anasazi pitched, extended, raised, or supported their beam-latticed roofs.

The warmth and stability of the red earth is absent from the icy white- ness, paper walls, and fretful transformability typical of current exhibition sites. Intrinsically mutable and manipulatable, these decomposable spaces for shifting displays are emblematic of the restlessness governing our phantomized electronic existence. It is the strength of Iglesias's beautifully BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD 107

crafted constructions to make us aware of just how erratic, temporary, and brittle the notion of shelter has become. When walking into her provisional enclosures, the viewer is struck by their deliberately hesitant and awkward relation to a museum's movable partitions, sloping ramps, or uninhabitable scale. These vestiges always give the impression of having been somehow skewered, displaced, or self-consciously out of place. Constricting arcades head nowhere, preferring to huddle in corners. Then there is the arbitrariness of stationing grand, organically embossed metal slabs in the center of an empty exhibition space. Since these artificial for- mations (such as Untitled [Eucalyptus Leaves II, III, IV], 1994-96) frame emptiness, they function as if they were the sides of a collapsible tent. Cantilevered brackets, sensuously glazed with a diaphanous skin of color laid over metal struts, define an otherwise unremarkable patch of flooring. How different from Antoni Gaudi's delightfully spidery, wrought iron entrance gate for the apartment block, Casa Mila, 1905-10. The intense Barcelona sun, piercing the openings, assertively checkers the threshold imparting the dignity of liminality to what is, after all, merely transitional space. More akin to the tentativeness of Jim Hodges's silvery web, In Blue, 1996, Iglesias's lacy drapes of faintly shadowed light fleetingly make some- thing out of the anonymous nothing stretching below or behind them. In comparison to the filmy delicacy of Iglesias's translucent installation such as Untitled (Alabaster Room), 1993, pages 46-53, Daniel Buren's granite stripes or Sol LeWitt's broad-band slanted wall drawings look heavy and coated. Neither a hard-edged minimalist nor a conceptualist, then, Iglesias is a fabulist enacting cautionary tales about the rupture of embodied past from disembodied present. Her marring of rigid geometries and pristine grids emphasizes the worn, the effaced, the sundered.

This foregrounding of vulnerability is so unsettling precisely because the archaic forms she invokes and reconsiders conjure up myths of divinely guarded and guarding structures: Cretan maze, Hindu cavern, Irish bar- row, Brittany dolmen, French Gothic buttress, and New World ledge. But 108 BARBARA MARIA STAFFORD neither the physical nor the psychological conditions that once made such secluded habitats feel reclusive prevail today. The lucid volumes and care- fully contrived openings of legendary architecture have turned perplexing and random in Iglesias's projects. The baffling effect of porous shelters that do not shield well or for long puts an intolerable pressure on the meaning of mental security. We are tempted to enter her glowing hollows, not to flee battle or sickness, but to evade some greater, nebulous and nameless, anguish that is hard to pin down. Unlike a charmed amulet or enchanted talisman these intense, yet imperfect, refuges merely ward off peril for a moment. Yet in alluding, however paradoxically, to serene and coherent systems of ordering, they permit us to experience a tentative safety. Both the despair and the consolation of postmodernist protective layerings, she seems to suggest, is that they are all surface. There is no absolute or permanent substructure shoring up human productions. Whatever haven is given to us lies within the manifest structure, not behind, but before, the eyes. I 09

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

EXHIBITION HISTORY & BIBLIOGRAPHY

ILLUSTRATIONS 145

Works of art included in the exhibition arc denoted by PAGE 21: an asterisk Sin titulo (Untitled), 1990

Fibercement, iron, and blue glass, 2.3 x 1.4 x 1.2 m (7 feel

cover: l 6 A inches x 4 feet 7 % inches x 3 feet 1 1 '/i inches) Detail of Sin titnlo (Celosia) Carre d'Art, IVIusee d'Art Contemporain, Nimes (Untitled /Jealousy/), 1997* pages 22, 24-25: Wood, resin, and bronze powder, 2.6 x 2.2 x 2.5 m '8y: (8 feet 6 Va inches x 7 feet 2 % inches x 8 feet 2 % inches) Installation views of Espagne Dytiamiques et BACOB Collection, Brussels Interrogations, ARC, Musee d'Art Moderne de laVille de Paris, 1987 PAGE 12:

Photographic study, 1991 page 28:

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1991 page 15: Fibercement and cast aluminum, 2.2 x 2.7 x 1 m (7 feet Installation view of Cristina Iglesias, Kunsthalle ' '/« 2 V» inches x 8 feet 10 1 inches x 3 feet 3 inches) Bern, 1991 Kunstmuseum Bern, Stiftung Kunsthalle Bern

left: PAGE 29:

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1988 Sin titulo (Untitled), 1993

Iron, wood, and glass, 2.1 x 1.3 x 1.3 m (6 feet Fibercement and resin, 2.5 x 2.2 x 1.5 m (8 feet 10 Vb inches x feet inches x feet inches) 4 3 % 4 3 % 2 Vs inches x 7 feet 2 V» inches x 4 feet 1 1 inches)

Private collection, Belgium Collection of the artist

right: PAGE 31:

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1988 Sin titulo (Untitled), 1991

Iron, glass, and leather, 2 x 1.17 x 1.29 m (6 feet Fibercement, cast aluminum, and glass, 2.2 x 1.35 x

6 V* inches x feet 10 inches x feet 2 'A inches) 3 4 1 m (7 feet 2 % inches x 4 feet 5 % inches x 3 feet

Private collection, Belgium 3 Vs inches) Courtesy of Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens page 17:

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1990 PAGE 33:

Fiberccment, aluminum, and red glass, 2.36 x 1.64 x Sin titulo (Untitled), 1991 2.04 m (7 feet 8 Vs inches x 5 feet 4 'A inches x Fibercement, iron, and terra-cotta, 2.3 x 2.02 x 1.04 m

6 feet 8 inches) l l % (7 feet 6 A inches x 6 feet 7 A inches x 3 feet 5 inches) Collection Berge, Madrid Courtesy of Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens page 18: pages 34-35: Sin titulo (Untitled), 1990 Installation views of Espacio mental: Rene Fibercement, aluminum, and yellow glass, 2.02 x Daniels, Thierry de Cordier, Isa Genzken, Cristina 2.4 x .6 m (6 feet 7 lA inches x 7 feet 10 '/> inches x Iglesias, Thomas Schiitte, Jan Vercruysse, Instituto 1 foot 1 1 V* inches) Valenciano de Arte Moderno, Centre del Carme, Collection of the artist Valencia, 1991 146 ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGES 34 AND 35, LEFT: pages 46, 49, 51-53:

Sin titulo {Untitled), 1988 Installation views of Cristina Iglesias, Spanish Concrete, iron, and glass, 2.1 x 1.29 x 1.29 m (6 feet Pavilion, XLV Biennale di Venezia, Venice, 1993 10 Vs inches x 4 feet 2 V* inches x 4 feet 2 V* inches) Private collection, Belgium Sin titulo (Habitacion de alabastro) {Untitled [Alabaster Room]), 1993 page 35, right: Iron and alabaster; five units, dimensions variable

Sin titulo {Untitled), 1987 Collection of the artist

Concrete and iron, 2.1 x .7 x .65 m (6 feet 10 % inches x

2 feet 3 Vi inches x 2 feet 1 Vs inches) pages 56-57: BACOB Collection, Brussels Installation views of The Sublime Void (On the

Memory of the Imagination) , Antwerp 93, pages 36-37: Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Sin titulo {Untitled), 1988 Antwerp, 1993 Concrete, iron, and glass, 2.1 x 1.29 x 1.29 m (6 feet 10 Vs inches x 4 feet 2 V* inches x 4 feet 2 Vi inches) Sin titulo {Untitled), 1993 DESTE Foundation for Contemporary Art, Athens Iron and alabaster, 4.32 x 2.7 x 3.92 m (14 feet 2 inches x 8 feet 10 % inches x 12 feet 10 Vs inches) pages 38-41: Marugame Hirai Museum, Marugame, Japan Installation views of Cristina Iglesias: One Room,

StedelijkVan Abbemuseum, Eindhoven, 1994 pages 58-59, 62-65, 67:

Installation views of Cristina Iglesias, Spanish pages 38-39, left; 40, right; and 41, left top and Pavilion, XLV Biennale diVenezia,Venice, 1993 bottom (details):

Sin titulo {Untitled), 1994 pages 58; 59 (detail); and 62-63, right:

Fibercement, iron, and alabaster, 2.4 x 2.07 x 1.95 m Sin titulo (Venecia II) {Untitled [Venice II]), feet 10 V2 inches x 6 feet 9 lA inches x 6 feet (7 1993* 4 V* inches) Fibercement, iron, and amber glass, 2.7 x 4.6 x 1.22 m StedelijkVan Abbemuseum, Eindhoven (8 feet 10 V* inches x 15 feet 1 % inches x 4 feet) BACOB Collection, Brussels pages 38-39, right; 40, left; and 41, right top and

bottom (details): PAGES 62-63, LEFT; 64-65; AND 67 (DETAIL):

Sin titulo {Untitled), 1994 Sin titulo (Venecia I) {Untitled [Venice I]), 1993* Fibercement, iron, and alabaster, x 2.29 x 2.26 2.4 m Fibercement, tapestry, and glass, 2.5 x 3.6 x .6 m (8 feet (7 feet 10 '/> inches x 7 feet 6 % inches x 7 feet 5 inches) 2 Vs inches x 1 1 feet 9 Vi inches x 1 foot 1 1 Vs inches)

Collection of the artist Collection of the artist pages 42-45: page 69:

Views of permanent installation, Katoennatie, Sin titulo {Untitled), 1987

Antwerp (Paul Robbrecht and Hilde Daem, Concrete, iron, tapestry, and glass, 2.3 x 3 x 1.96 m architects) (7 feet 6 Vi inches x 9 feet 10 Vs inches x 6 feet 5 Vs inches)

Sin titulo {Untitled), 1992-93 Collection of the artist Iron, alabaster, and colored glass; eight units,

approximately 3.7 x 3.1 x 3.4 m (12 feet 1 Vs inches x

10 feet 2 inches x 11 feet 1 Vs inches) each ILLUSTRATIONS 147

PAGE 70: PAGE 77, top:

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1991* Sin titulo (Lanzarote j) (Untitled /Lanzarote j]), Fibercement, iron, tapestry, and amber glass, 2.03 x 1996 2.2 x .5 (6 feet Va inches x 7 feet 2 Vh inches x m 7 Photo etching on paper, 1.0X x 1.2 m (3 feet 6 Vt inches x

1 foot 7 Va inches) 3 feet 1 1 V* inches) artist Collection of the Collection of the artist

page 71: PAGE 77, BOTTOM: Sin titulo (Untitled), 1988 Sin titulo (Lanzarote 4) (Untitled [Lanzarote 4]), Iron, glass, and leather, 2 x 1.17 x 1.2 m (6 feet 1996 6 V* inches x 3 feet 10 inches x 3 feet 11 ' A inches) Photo etching on paper, 1.08 x 1.2 m (3 feet 6 Vi inches x Private collection, Belgium 3 feet 11 'A inches)

Collection of the artist pages 73, 74 (detail):

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1993-97* page 79: Fibercement, iron, aluminum, and tapestry, 2.45 x Studies on the wall of the artist's studio, 3.65 x .7 m (8 feet Vz inch x 11 feet 11 V* inches x Madrid, 1997 2 feet 3 V2 inches)

Collection of the artist page 81:

Sin titulo (Triptico II) (Untitled [Triptych II]), PAGE 75:

Sin titulo (Untitled), 1987 1994 Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 1.9 x 2.2 x .05 m (6 feet Iron, concrete, tapestry, and glass, 2.5 x 3 x .9 m (8 feet 2 Va inches x 7 feet 2 % inches x 2 inches) overall 2 Vs inches x 9 feet 10 % inches x 2 feet 11 V2 inches) Instituto Moderno, Centre Collection of Wilfried andYannick Cooreman, Valenciano de Arte IVAM Puurs, Belgium Julio Gonzalez, Generalitat Valenciana, Valencia

PAGE 82: page 76, top: Sin titulo (Triptico VII) (Untitled [Triptych VII]), Sin titulo (Lanzarote 5) (Untitled [Lanzarote 5]), 1996 1997* Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 1.8 x 2.5 x .05 m (5 feet Photo etching on paper, 1.08 x 1.2 m (3 feet 6 V* inches x 10 Vh inches x 8 feet 2 Va inches x 2 inches) overall 3 feet 11 'A inches) Collection of the artist, Courtesy of Donald Young Collection of the artist Gallery, Seattle page 76, bottom: page 83: Sin titulo (Lanzarote 6) (Untitled [Lanzarote 6[), Sin titulo (Triptico VIII) (Untitled [Triptych VIII]), 1996 * i Photo etching on paper, 1.08 x 1.2 m (3 feet 6 V2 inches x 997 Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 1.8 x 2.5 x .05 m (5 feet 3 feet 11 % inches) 10 inches x 8 feet 2 inches x 2 inches) overall Collection of the artist Va % Collection of the artist, Courtesy of Donald Young

Gallery, Seattle 148 ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE 84: page 104:

Sin titulo (Diptico IV) {Untitled [Diptych IV]), Sin titulo (Hojas de eucaliptus I)

1995* (Untitled [Eucalyptus Leaves I]), 1994 Silkscreen on silk; diptych, 1.9 x 1.5 x .05 m (6 feet Cast aluminum, 2.5 x 2 x .92 m (8 feet 2 % inches x

3 2 /4 inches x 4 feet 1 1 inches x 2 inches) overall 6 feet 6 Vi inches x 3 feet % inch) Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle Museo de Bellas Artes de Alava, Vitoria, Spain

pages 87, 92-93: pages 109, iio-ii, 1 12—13:

Installation views of Cristina Iglesias, Spanish Installation views of Cristina Iglesias, Galerie Pavilion, XLV Biennale di Venezia, Venice, 1993 Konrad Fischer, Dusseldorf, 1994

Sin titulo (Hojas de laurel) pages 109, left; iio-ii, right; and 1 12-13 (detail):

(Untitled [Laurel Leaves]), 1993 Sin titulo (Canas de bambu I) Fibercement and cast aluminum, 2.66 x 3.2 x .32 m (Untitled [Bamboo Sticks I]), 1994 5 (9 feet 4 Vi inches x 10 feet 6 inches x 1 foot /s inch) Cast aluminum, 2.4 x 1 x .75 m (7 feet 10 V2 inches x Universidad Nacional de Educacion a Distancia, Madrid 3 feet 3 Vs inches x 2 feet 5 V2 inches) StedelijkVan Abbemuseum, Eindhoven pages 90-91:

Detail of Sin titulo (Hojas de laurel) page 109, right:

( Un titled [La u rel Leaves] ) , 1993 Sin titulo (Triptico II) (Untitled [Triptych II]), 1994 pages 94-95, 97: Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 1.9 x 2.2 x .05 m (6 feet Sin titulo (Hojas de laurel) {Untitled [Laurel 2 3A inches x 7 feet 2 5/s inches x 2 inches) overall Leaves]), 1993, permanently installed in the Institute Valenciano de Arte Moderno, IVAM Centre

library of Universidad Nacional de Educacion a Julio Gonzalez, Generalitat Valenciana, Valencia Distancia, Madrid pages iio-ii, left: pages 98-99: Sin titulo (Untitled), 1994 Views of permanent installation, Moskenes, Cast aluminum and iron, 1.35 x 1.03 x .43 m (4 feet

% inches x feet '/> inches x 1 foot Vs inches) Lofoten Islands, Norway 5 3 4 4 Private collection, Belgium

Sin titulo (Islas Lofoten) pages 1 15-19: (Untitled [Lofoten Islands]), 1994 Installation views, Cristina Iglesias, Donald Fibercement, cast aluminum, and aluminum, 2.66 x

5.2 x 4.6 m (18 feet 8 V* inches x 17 feet V* inch x Young Gallery, Seattle, 1996

15 feet 1 % inches) PAGES II5, LEFT, AND II6-I7, LEFT:

Sin titulo (Bosque de bambu I) pages 102-03 (detail), 105: (Untitled [Bamboo Forest I]), 1995 Sin titulo (Hojas de eucaliptus II) Cast aluminum, 2.4 x 2.3 x 1.88 m (7 feet 10 Vi inches x (Untitled [Eucalyptus Leaves II]), 1994* 7 feet 6 Vz inches x 6 feet 2 inches) Cast aluminum, 2.5 x 2.2 x .85 m (8 feet 2 Vs inches x Paul and Camille Oliver Hoffmann, Chicago, 5 7 feet 2 /s inches x 2 feet 1 1 Vz inches) Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle Courtesy of Galerie Konrad Fischer, Dusseldorf ILLUSTRATIONS 149

pages 115, right; i 16-17, right; and 1 18-19, left: right:

Sin titulo (Bosque de bambit II) Sin titulo (Diptico IV) (Untitled [Diptych IV]),

{Untitled [Bamboo Forest II]), 1995* 1995*

silk; loci Cast aluminum, 2.4 x 2.5 x .6 m (7 feet 10 '/a inches x Silkscreen on diptych, 1.9 x 1.45 x .05 m (6

Vi feet 2 overall 8 feet 2 % inches x 1 foot 1 1 % inches) 2 inches x 4 9 inches x inches) Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle

pages 1 18-19, right: pages 124-25 (detail), 127:

Sin titulo (Bosque de bambit III) Sin titulo (Bosque de bambit oxidado)

(Untitled [Bamboo Forest III]), 1995 (Untitled [Iron Bamboo Forest]), 1996

Cast aluminum, 2.4 x 2.2 x .85 m (7 feet 10 '/> inches x Iron and resin, 2.5 x 4.7 x 3.2 m (8 feet 2 % inches x

7 feet 2 % inches x 2 feet 9 Vi inches) 15 feet 5 inches x 10 feet 6 inches) Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle Banco Guipuzcoano, San Sebastian

PAGE 120: pages 128 (detail), 129, 130-31 (detail):

Sin titulo (Triptico IV) (Untitled [Triptych IV]), Sin titulo (Celosia) (Untitled [Jealousy]), 1997* * Wood, resin, and bronze powder, 2.6 x 2.2 x 2.5 m (8 feet i 997 6 Vs inches x 7 feet 2 % inches x 8 feet 2 Vt inches) Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 2 x 2.5 x .05 m (6 feet BACOB Collection, Brussels 6 Vi inches x 8 feet 2 % inches x 2 inches) overall

Collection of the artist, Courtesy of Donald Young PAGES 132-33 (DETAILS), I35: Gallery, Seattle Sin titulo (Habitacion de acero inoxidable) page 121: (Untitled [Stainless Steel Room]), 1997*

Sin titulo (Triptico V) (Untitled [Triptych V]), Iron, resin, and stainless steel, 2.5 x 3.15 x 3.15 m (8 feet * 2 Vs inches x 10 feet 4 inches x 10 feet 4 inches) i 997 Collection of the artist Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 2 x 2.5 x .05 m (6 feet

6 Vi inches x 8 feet 2 Vs inches x 2 inches) overall pages 136-37 (detail), 138-39, 140 (detail): Collection of the artist, Courtesy of Donald Young Sin titulo (Techo suspendido inclinado) Gallery, Seattle (Untitled [Hanging Tilted Ceiling]), 1997*

PAGE 123: Iron, resin, and stone powder, .1x9.15x6m

Vs inches x feet V* inch x feet 8 inches) Installation view, Cristina Iglesias, Donald Young (3 30 19 % Collection of the artist, Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle, 1996 Gallery, Seattle

left:

Sin titulo (Triptico III) (Untitled [Triptych III]), 1995*

Silkscreen on silk; triptych, 1.9 x 2.2 x .05 cm (6 feet

2 Vi inches x 7 feet 2 Vs inches x 2 inches) overall Courtesy of Donald Young Gallery, Seattle

.

EXHIBITION HISTORY 151

Born November 1956 in San Sebastian. Lives and trans. Stefan Barmann, Michael Biberstein, Ana

works in Madrid. Gusmao, Klaus Kapp, Irmgard Schnell, Jose Lebrero Stals, and Cristina Ward. SOLO EXHIBITIONS Galerie Joost Declercq, Ghent. Cristina Iglesias. November 5-December 17. 1984 Casa de Bocage, Galeria Municipal de Arte 1989 Visuais de Setiibal, Portugal. Cristina Iglesias— Galerie Ghislaine Hussenot, Paris. Cristina Iglesias.

Arqueologias. June 8-July 5. Exh. cat., with text November 30, 1989-January 10, 1990. by Antonio Cerveira-Pinto. In Portuguese and English; trans. Isabel Correia. 1990 Galeria Comicos, Lisbon. Sequencias. Galleria Locus Solus, Genoa. Cristina Iglesias/Lili

September 11-October 6. Dujourie. Exh. cat., with introduction by Galeria Juana de Aizpuru, Madrid. Cristina Bart Cassiman.

Iglesias. October 14-November 9. Galeria Marga Paz, Madrid. Cristina Iglesias. February/March 1986 De Appel Foundation, Amsterdam. Cristina

Galeria Comicos, Lisbon. Cristina Iglesias. Iglesias. February 7-March 11. Exh. cat., December 2-31. with text by Bart Cassiman. In English and Dutch; trans. John Rudge. 1987 Galeria Comicos, Lisbon. Cristina Iglesias, C.A.P.C. Musee d'Art Contemporain, Bordeaux. Esculturas recentes. November 27, 1990-

Cristina Iglesias: Sculptures de 1984 a 1987. January 4, 1991. Exh. cat., with text by

September 25-November 22. Exh. cat., with Iglesias. In Spanish and English; trans. text by Alexandre Melo. In English, Spanish, Michael Biberstein. and French; trans. Irene Bloc, Pascale de Los Angeles, and Jean-Marie Vriaud. 1991 Galeria Marga Paz, Madrid. Cristina Iglesias. Kunsthalle Bern. Cristina Iglesias. March 16-

October 30-November 30. April 28. Exh. cat., with texts by Ulrich

Galerie Peter Pakesch, Vienna. Cristina Iglesias. Loock and Jose Angel Valente. In Spanish,

April 5-May 2. German, and English; trans. Margret Joss and Petra Strien.

1988 Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens. Cristina Iglesias.

Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens. Cristina Iglesias. April 12-May 10.

April 28-May 19. Galerie Joost Declercq, Ghent. Cristina Iglesias.

Museo de Bellas Artes, Malaga. Cristina Iglesias. December 18, 1991-January 25, 1992. May. Kunstverein fur die Rheinlande und Westfalen, 1992 Diisseldorf. Cristina Iglesias. June 29-July 31. Art Gallery of York University, North York,

Exh. cat., with texts by Aurora Garcia and Jiri Ontario. Cristina Iglesias. September 23-

Svesta and reprinted statement by Iglesias November 1. Exh. cat., with text by Pepe

(from exh. cat., Cristina Iglesias [Lisbon: Galeria Espaliu and preface by Loretta Yarlow. Comicos, 1986]). In German and English; In English and Spanish. 152 EXHIBITION HISTORY

1993 GROUP EXHIBITIONS Galeria Municipal de Arte ARCO, Faro, Portugal. Cristina Iglcsias, Esculturas. May 8-June 18. 1983 Pabellon de Esparia, XLV Biennale di Venezia, Caja de Ahorros y Monte de Piedad, Casa del Venice. Cristina Iglesias. June 13-October 10. Monte, Palacio de las Alhajas, Madrid. La Exh. cat., with texts by Aurora Garcia and Jose Imagen del Animal: Arte Prehistorico, Arte Angel Valente. In English and Spanish; trans. Contemporaneo. December 1983-January 1984. Joanna Martinez and Cristina Ward. Exh. cat., with texts by Julio Caro Baroja, Mala Galerija, Moderna Galerija, Ljubljana, Ramon Bilbao, Joseph Beuys, Manuel Martin

Slovenia. Cristina Iglesias. October 12- Bueno, Mario Merz, Juan Muhoz, and Eduardo

December 5. Exh. cat., with text by Zdenka Ripoll Perello. Traveled to Caixa de Barcelona,

Badovinac. In Slovene and English; trans. Barcelona, March-April (exh. cat., in Catalan; Mika Briski and Tamara Soban. trans. Agusti Bejar, Mar Erice, David Reher,

Galerie Ghislaine Hussenot, Paris. Cristina Iglesias. and Caridad Torres).

December 11, 1993-January 15, 1994. 1985 1994 Stedelijk Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven. Christa Stedelijk Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven. Cristina Dichgans, Lili Dujourie, Marlene Dumas, Lesley

Iglesias: One Room. June 25-September 4. Foxcroft, Kees de Goede, Frank van Hemert,

Galerie Konrad Fischer, Dusseldorf. Cristina Cristina Iglesias, Harald Klingelholler, Mark

Iglesias. October 22-November 19. Luyten, Juan Munoz, Katherine Porter, Juliao Sarmento, Barbara Schmidt Heins, Gabriele 1996 Schmidt-Heins, DidierVermeiren. May 24- Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens. Cristina Iglesias. June 30. Exh. cat., with text on Iglesias by January 16-February 24. Lourdes Iglesias. In English; trans. G. E. Luton. Donald Young Gallery, Seattle. Cristina Iglesias. Galeria Fucares, Almagro, Spain. Punto y final. March 7-April 26. June/July

Galeria DV, San Sebastian. Cristina Iglesias. Galeria Juana de Aizpuru, Madrid. El desnudo.

July/August. Exh. cat., with text by Francisco July 10-September 16. Jarauta. In Spanish and English; trans. KADE Traducciones. 1986 Pabellon Mudejar, Seville. 17 Artistasl

ij Autonomias. February 28-April 6. Exh. cat., with text by Marga Paz. Traveled to La Lonja, Palma de Mallorca, summer. Diputacion Provincial de Malaga, Antiguo Colegio de San Agustin, Malaga.

8 de Marzo. March 8-21. Exh. cat., with text by MarVillaespesa. Fundacion Caja de Pensiones, Madrid. 1981-1986 Pintores y Escultores Espanoles. April 9-May 11. Exh. cat., with text by Kevin Power. In Spanish and English; trans. Margarita Borja. EXHIBITION HISTORY 153

Pabellon de Espaha, XLII Biennale di Venezia, Culturel de Chateau-Gontier, Chapelle Saint-

Venice. Ferrdn Garcia Sevilla, Cristina Iglesias, Julien de l'Hopital de Chateau-Gontier, France, Miguel Navarro, Jose Maria Sicilia. June 29- July 2 August 21, 1988.

September 28. Exh. cat., with texts by Marga ARC, Musee d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris. Paz, Francisco Calvo Serraller, and Ana Cinq Siecles d'art espagnol. Espagne '87:

Vazquez de Parga. In Spanish and English. Dynannques et biter rogations. October 10- Museo Espahol de Arte Contemporaneo, Madrid. November 22. Exh. cat., with text on Iglesias

VI Salon de los 16. Opened July 9. Exh. cat., by Carmen Gallano. In French; trans. with text by Miguel Logroho. Sylvie Bignon, Alexandre de Castellane, and Galeria Comicos, Lisbon. L'attitude. September 4- Sara Mirkovitch.

October 11. VIII Bienal de Escultura, Zamora. Escultura Iberica 1988 Contempordnea. September 20-October 20. Galeria Juana de Aizpuru, Madrid. Escultura.

Exh. cat., with texts by Javier Gonzalez de July 4-September 30. Durana and Kosme Maria de Baranano. Royal Dublin Society, The Guinness Hop Galeria Juana de Aizpuru, Madrid. Escultura sobre Store and the Royal Hospital Kilmainham,

la pared. October 24-December n. Dublin. ROSC '88. August 19-October 15. Exh. cat., with texts by Aidan Dunne, Olle 1987 Granath, Rosemarie Mulcahy, and Angelica De Appel Foundation, Amsterdam. Muur voor een Zander Rudenstine. schilderijIVloer voor een sculptuur. May 9-24. Donald Young Gallery, Chicago. Three Spanish

Fort Asperen Acquoy, Acquoy, Netherlands. Artists: Cristina Iglesias, Pello Irazu, Fernando

Beelden en Banieren. Summer. Exh. cat., with Sinaga. September 13-October 22. texts by R. H. Fuchs and Piet de Jonge. In Exh. brochure, with text by Aurora Garcia. Dutch and English; trans. Beth O'Brien. Rotonda diVia Besana and Studio Marconi, Galeria Juana de Aizpuru, Madrid. Proyecto Milan. Artisti Spagnoli Contemporanei.

para una coleccion de arte actual. July 15- October 11-November 20. Exh. cat., with September 20. texts by Dan Cameron, Mariano Navarro, Fonds Regional d'Art Contemporain des Pays de and Kevin Power.

la Loire, Abbaye Royale de Fontevraud, France. Galerie Barbara Farber, Amsterdam. Spanish

Quatriemes Ateliers Internationaux des Pays de la Sculpture. October 29-November 30.

Loire. September 12-November 1. Exh. cat., with text on Iglesias by Chris Dercon. In 1989 French and English. Traveled to Pole Centre Albert Borschette, Brussels. Jeunes

d'Animation et de Rencontres Culturelles Sculpteurs espagnols: Au ras du sol, le dos au mur.

(PARC), Manufacture desTabacs, Nantes, January 23-May 30. Exh. cat., with text by

November 20, 1987-January 17, 1988; Fernando Huici. In Spanish and French;

Musee d'Art et Archeologie de la Roche-sur- trans. Dragoman SA and J. P. Potin. Yon, France; February 13-March 21, 1988; Museum of Modern Art, Takanawa, Japan. Palais des Congres de la Ville du Mans, France, Spain Art Today. April 29-June 12. Exh. cat.,

April 5-May 8, 1988; Palais des Congres de la with text by Miguel Fernandez-Cid. Ville de Saint-Jean-de-Monts, France, In Japanese and Spanish. May 21-June 28, 1988; and Office Social et 154 EXHIBITION HISTORY

Galerie Joost Declercq, Ghent; Galerie Max In Spanish, English, and Dutch; trans. Anita Hetzler, Cologne; Luhring Augustine Gallery, Buysse and Harry Smith. New York; Galerie Peter Pakesch, Vienna; Louver Gallery, New York. Clemente, Doren,

Galeria Marga Paz, Madrid; and Galleria Mario Iglesias, Mol, Sarmento. June i-July 3. Pieroni, Rome. Forg, Iglesias, Spaletti, Vercruysse, Galeria Marga Paz, Madrid. Rodney Graham,

West, Wool. Summer. Exh. brochure. Cristina Iglesias, Tony Cragg. House of Cyprus, DESTE Foundation for Contemporary Art, Athens. Psychological 1992

Abstraction. July 1 8 September 16. Exh. cat., Donald Young Gallery, Seattle. Group Show.

with text by Jeffrey Deitch. In Greek and January 17-April 8. English; trans. Athena Schina. Instituto Valenciano de Arte Moderno, Valencia. Casa de Parra, Santiago de Compostela. Presencia Coleccion del IVAM. Adquisiciones 1985-1992.

c procesos sobre as ultimas tendencias da arte. February 7-April 5. Exh. cat., with texts by October. Exh. brochure. Carmen Alborch, Tomas Llorens, Vicente

Todoli, and J. F Yvars. 1990 Estacion Plaza de Armas, Seville. Los 80 en la The Eighth Biennale of Sydney, Art Gallery of coleccion de la Fundacion "La Caixa." April n- New South Wales. The Readymade Boomerang: June 20. Exh. cat., with texts by Mariano

Certain Relations in Twentieth Century Art. Navarro, Kevin Power, and Evelyn Weiss.

April 11 June 3. Exh. cat., with statement by In Spanish and English; trans. Berit Balzer, Iglesias. In English; trans. Michael Biberstein. Dru Dougherty, Ana Eiroa Guillen, Brian Centro Atlantico de Arte Moderno, Las Palmas. Hughes, Miguel Angel Perez, Isidro Pliego,

Hacia el PaisajelTozvards Landscape. October Francisco Javier Torres Ribelles, Helena Rouse,

16-November 30. Exh. cat., with texts by and Maria Teresa CruzYabar. Aurora Garcia and Denys Zacharopoulos. In Salas del Arenal, Seville. Los Ultimos DiaslThe Last

Spanish and English; trans. Adolfo Garcia Days. April 19-May 13. Exh. cat., with texts by Ortega, Charles Penwarden, and Africa Vidal. Juan Vicente Allaga, Jose Luis Brea, Massimo Cacciari, Dan Cameron, Manel Clot, Francisco 1991 Jarauta. In Spanish and English; trans. Fabian Martin-Gropius-Bau, Berlin. Metropolis. April 20- Chueca Crespo, Alberto Gomez Font, Maruja July 21. Exh. cat., with texts by Jeffrey Deitch, Garcia Padilla,Tom Skipp, and John Suau. Wolfgang Max Faust, Vilem Flusser, Boris Pabellon de Espaha, Exposition Universal de Groys, Jenny Holzer, Christos M. Joachimides, Sevilla 1992, Seville. Pasajes: Actualidad del Arte Dietmar Kamper, Achille Bonito Oliva, espanol. April 20-October 12. Exh. cat., with Norman Rosenthal, Christoph Tannert, and texts by Teresa Bianchi and Jose Luis Brea. Paul Virilio. In English; trans. David Britt, Centro Cultural Tecla Sala, Hospitalet, Barcelona.

Christian Caryl, Vittoria Di Palma, Chris Tropismes. July n-August 15. Exh. cat., with Kraus, Michael Robinson, and Yvonne Shafir. texts by Nimfa Bisbe, Dan Cameron, and Rosa Instituto Valenciano de Arte Moderno, Centre del Queralt. In Spanish, Catalan, and English; Carme, Valencia. Espacio mental: Rene Daniels, trans. Montse Cunill, Ignasi Sarda, and

Thierry de Cordier, Isa Genzken, Cristina Iglesias, Graham A. Thompson. Thomas Schiitte, Jan Vercruysse. May 10-July 21. Donald Young Gallery, Seattle. Group Show. Exh. cat., with text by Bart Cassiman. July 24-September 12. EXHIBITION HISTORY 155

Edinburgh. Lux Europae. October 22-January 5. 1995

Exh. cat., with texts by Sacha Craddock and Cruce, Madrid. 12 Esperientzelexperiencias: Taller de

Duncan MacMillan and interview with Kaspar serigrafia, Artelcku 1994. February 27-March 16. Konig. In English. Exh. cat., with texts by Pepe Albacete and Iglesias. In Basque, Spanish, and English; 1993 trans. BITEZ. Traveled to Arteleku, Charlottenborg, Copenhagen. Juxtaposition. San Sebastian, May.

April 29-June 6. Exh. cat., with texts by Mikkel Chisenhale Gallery, London. Li/i Dujouriel Borgh and John Peter Nielsson. In Danish and Pepe EspaliulCristina Iglesias. September 23- English; trans. Martha Gaber Abrahamsen. October 29, 1995. Exh. cat., Some Notes on Donald Young Gallery, Seattle. Group Show. Nothing, and the Silence of Works ofArt, with

May 1993-January 15, 1994. text by Michael Newman. Antwerp 93, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Henry Moore Institute, Leeds. Gravity's Angel. Kunsten, Antwerp. The Sublime Void (On the September 28 December 30. Exh. cat., with

Memory Of the Imagination) . July 25- text by Penelope Curtis. October 10. Exh. cat., with introduction by Museum of Art, Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh.

Bart Cassiman. 199S Carnegie International. November 4, Palacio de Velazquez, Madrid. XIII Salon de los 16. 1995-February 18, 1996. Exh. cat., with

September 21-October 30. Exh. cat., with text introduction by Richard Armstrong. by Miguel Fernandez-Cid. Traveled to Jean Bernier Gallery, Athens. Andreas Gursky, Auditorio de Galicia, Santiago de Compostela. Cristina Iglesias, Juan Muhoz, Eric Poitevin,Yvan Salomone, Pia Stadtbaumer, Sue Williams. 1994 November 30, 1995-January 10, 1996. Koldo Mitxelena Kulturunea, San Sebastian. Bildumak/Colecciones. March 29-May 29. Exh. 1997 cat., with texts by Xavier Saenz de Gorbea, Kunsthalle Bern. TenYears of the Foundation of the

Gloria Picazo, and Frederic Oyharcabal. In Kunsthalle Bern. January 29-March 2. Exh. cat., Basque, Spanish, French; trans. BITEZ. with text by Ulrich Loock. In German.

Kunsthalle Bern. Spuren von Ausstellungen der Palacio de Velazquez, Madrid. En la Pie! de Tow.

Kiuisthalle in zeitgenossischer Kunst. May 7— May 14-September 8. Exh. cat., with texts by

June 19. Exh. cat., with text by Ulrich Loock. Aurora Garcia and Joaquin Magalhaes. In Donald Young Gallery, Seattle. Group Show. Spanish and English; trans. Jose Angel June i-November 12. Cilleruelo and Nigel Williams. Moskenes, Lofoten Islands, Norway. Artscape Norway. Opened June. Permanent installation of Untitled (Lofoten Islands).

Instituto Cervantes, Rome. La voce del Genere.

October 26-November 26. Exh. cat., with text on Iglesias by MarVillaespesa. In Italian and Spanish; trans. Luciano Scatolini. 156 BIBLIOGRAPHY

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Garcia, Aurora. "Galeria Marga Paz, Madrid." Artforum (New York), no. 26 (February 1988), Please refer to the Exhibition History for pp. 155-56. information about exhibition catalogues and Grant, Simon. "Lili Dujourie/Pepe related publications. Espaliu /Cristina Iglesias; Chisendale Gallery, Interviews London. Gravity's Angel; Henry Moore Institute, Reindl, Uta M. "Kunstlerportrats: Cristina Leeds." Art Monthly (London), no. 191 Iglesias." Kunstforum International (Cologne), (November 1995), pp. 35-37. no. 94 (April-May 1988), pp. 132-35. Grout, Catherine. "Cristina Iglesias, Juan Vasconcelos, Helena. "Entrevista con Cristina Muhoz: Sculptures." Artstudio (Paris), no. 14

Iglesias." Figura (Seville), nos. 7-8 (spring 1986), (autumn 1989), pp. 1 10-17. In French. pp. 51-53. Hackett, Regina. "Iglesias' Mind-Bending Murals Monograph and Sculptures Take Hold in U.S." Seattle Post

Maderuelo, Javier. Cristina Iglesias: Cinco Proyectos. Intelligencer (Seattle), March 15, 1996, p. 18. Artistas Espaholes Contemporaneos (Madrid: Hansel, Sylvaine. "Berufung auf die eigene Fundacion Argentaria, 1996). Tradition." Weltkunst (Munich) 60, no. 9 Selected Articles and Reviews (May 1990), pp. 1392-396. Artner, Alan G. "At the Galleries: Exploring the Kangas, Matthew. "Seattle: Cristina Iglesias, Flower of Mortality: Cristina Iglesias, Pello Irazu, Donald Young Gallery." Sculpture (Washington, Fernando Sinaga." Chicago Tribune, October 20, D.C.), no. 15 (July-August 1996), pp. 60-61. 1988, section 5, p. 12. Koether, Jutta and Diedrich Diederichsen. "Jutta Calvo Serraller, Francisco. "Una revelation con- and Diedrich Go to Spain: Spanish Art and vincente." El Pais (Madrid), October 22, 1984. Culture Viewed from Madrid." Artscribe

— . "La Nouvelle Sculpture espagnole." Art International (London), no. 59 Press (Paris), no. 117 (September 1987), pp. 17-20. (September-October 1986), pp. 56-61.

Cembalest, Robin. "Learning to Absorb the Shock Melo, Alexandre. "Cristina Iglesias, obras en

of the New." ARTnews (New York) 88, no. 7 cemento." Journal des Lettres, September 1984. (September 1989), pp. 127-31. — . "Cristina Iglesias, a Free Exercise of

Fernandez-Cid, Miguel. "A tiempo para la escul- Intelligence." Flash Art (Milan), no. 138 tura?" Ldpiz (Madrid), no. 36 (October 1986). (January-February 1988), pp. 91-92.

Fredericksen, Eric. "Cristina Iglesias at Donald — . "Galeria Comicos, Lisbon." Artforum

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(Seattle) 5, no. 27 (March 27-April 2, 1996), Murria, Alicia. "Venezia: la Biennale." Ldpiz p. 20. (Madrid) 11, no. 93 (May 1993), pp. 20-23. Gambrell, Jamey. "Five from Spain." Art in "Neue Ankaufe der Stiftung Kunsthalle Bern." America (New York) 9, no. 75 (September 1987), Berner Kunstmitteilungen (Bern), no. 281 pp. 160-71. (September- October 1991), pp. 11-13. BIBLIOGRAPHY 157

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